


Determined

by midsummernight13



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Genocide Route
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-18 12:36:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7315471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midsummernight13/pseuds/midsummernight13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Battling Sans is...more difficult than Frisk anticipated. Fortunately the mysterious voice is there to encourage them and help them stay determined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Determined

“Now that is the look of someone who’s died…quiece? Fivece?” Sans shrugged. “Guess it doesn’t matter. Won’t be using it again anyway.” The skeleton waved his arm and they were once again bombarded with a wall of bones that flew at them from all directions.

Frisk gritted their teeth and snarled like a wounded hyena as they darted back and forth. Sans appeared to know where they’d end up even before they did. Bones jabbed into their feet as they moved, and they would be clubbed from behind even as they managed to dodge the attacks coming from the left and right.

Frisk staggered to a stop—everything ached but that was nothing new, they could handle being a little sore—and lashed out at the skeleton, their knife flashing silver in the dusky light of the hall. Sans side-stepped the knife easily, the maniac grin never leaving his face as he danced out of their reach.

As he dodged Frisk’s attempt on his life the pinpricks of light in the Sans’ eye sockets flared bright blue and Frisk felt something dull force its way into their abdomen, running through them until it broke past their spine. They screeched as their spine shattered; the sound of their pained screams was followed by the dull thud of Sans’ attacks landing on their body. The world blurred into an all-consuming red that quickly faded into black. At least he got it over with quick, they’d give Sans that much.

Before they could fade away completely Frisk reached out with the last of their energy and reset. When they opened their eyes again they were once again standing at the opening of the hallway. Sans smiled at them from the opposite end.

“So we're going for number seven?” A blue light sparked to life in Sans’ left eye socket. “Fine by me.” With a snap of his fingers another wave of bones flew through the air and their battle began anew.

‘A pattern,’ Frisk thought as they dodged the volley of bones and sidestepped a blast from Sans’ blaster. These people always followed a pattern of some sort. If they could just—Sans’ blaster attack seared through them, tearing at their flesh and drowning out their screams as it roared past.

“Again,” a voice said as the world went dark, “Stay determined.” The voice was soft and encouraging, yet also firm and demanding all at once. This wasn’t the first time the voice had spoken to them; it would often offer words of encouragement and advice throughout the course of their battles. It had been oddly silent during their fights with Sans; it seemed strange for the voice to suddenly speak now. Or perhaps their thoughts had grown so similar to the voice that they couldn’t tell when it was it speaking or them. The thought sent a brief shudder of distaste coursing through Frisk’s soul, but it was not enough for them to stop listening to the voice’s advice now. They reloaded their save.

“Eight.”

“Nine.”

“Ten.”

As Sans’ tally of wins grew higher Frisk grew more frustrated. Rage made them clumsy in battle, and the constant loses were beginning to take the toll on their determination. However, each time Sans struck them down the voice was there, urging them forward.

“It’ll be alright, just stay determined,” the voice would say. It had a habit of looking on the bright side of the situation. Every new battle was a chance to defeat Sans, and if they didn’t they would at least learn what made him tick. And every blow that landed on them, every death they suffered was just another reason to destroy him.

“He can’t dodge forever.” If the voice was right about anything it was that. Sans feet had begun to drag when he dodged their attacks, and the blue flame that had taken the place of the pinpricks of light that passed for his eyes would begin to grow dim during the longer fights. Frisk’s usually somber expression began to twist into a maniacal smile. He was getting tired.

Still, it wasn’t until well after their hundredth battle—the 131st, if Sans’ tally was to be believed—that the mental and physical toll of constant reloading and fighting began to inhibit the skeleton’s ability to fight. He stumbled, his attacks were sloppy, and Frisk’s attacks, which had started out missing him by a mile, were beginning to miss him by a mere few inches. Then instead of being sloppy he got stupid. He paused for just a few seconds, but it was enough.

“Boy,” he said in a wheezing voice, “you sure like swingin—” The sound of tearing cloth filled the air and Frisk’s knife hit San’s ribs with a sharp _clink_. The skeleton’s movements froze and the skeleton slowly turn his gaze away from them and toward the splotch of red that was slowly spreading across his white t-shirt.

“Well, I’m going to Grillby’s.” He spoke in a slow, broken voice. His eye socket guttered blue before fading into a plain white dot. His gaze locked on something above Frisk’s shoulder and he said, “You want anything Papyrus?” He took a shaky step forward then collapsed on the floor. Frisk stepped to the side in order to avoid being crushed by the skeleton’s weight.

The clatter of Sans’ bone against the marigold tiles of the hallway was followed by a soft _fwump_ as his bones crumbled into dust. Frisk stared at the dust pile through narrowed eyes and nudged it with their foot as if to make sure Sans was really dead. When the skeleton failed to reform, and they had grown tired of playing with the dust, Frisk moved to the other end of the hallway, toward what they could only assume was the throne room. They twirled their knife between their fingers as they walked, humming a happy tune under their breath.

“What did I tell you,” the voice said as they approached the throne room, “You just got to stay determined.”


End file.
